


saturdays

by rexflame



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! Zexal
Genre: Character Death, Gen, Time Loop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-03
Updated: 2014-03-03
Packaged: 2018-01-14 11:38:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1265116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rexflame/pseuds/rexflame
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>saturday was fine, but once it'd happened three or four times it was kind of annoying.</p>
            </blockquote>





	saturdays

**Author's Note:**

> i did this entire thing in one sitting and didn't even edit it. never follow my example i am the worst example 2k14.  
> anyway, this is sort of based off heat haze daze? i don't know, but the idea wouldn't leave me alone. i've never tried to write a time loop before, oops.  
> whether or not this is a good choice for me to post as my first fic on here is debatable but to hell with it. this is probably full of medical inaccuracies.  
> regardless, i hope you enjoy!

He really doesn’t mind Saturdays.

They’re generally pretty lazy days, spent lazing around while Rio yells at him to do something productive (and he doesn’t, usually, just watches television until she takes the remote and reminds him about some essay that’s due or a project they need to work on). So he doesn’t mind them, because he can usually keep to himself without too much trouble.

Today, though, he’d agreed to take Rio shopping.

Shopping isn’t really something he minds, actually; he has a pretty okay fashion sense under that purple mop of hair. So he walks around the mall, carrying bags of Rio’s clothes (and some of his own; he got a nice pair of teal skinny jeans on her advice and damn they look good). They’re heading back to his motorcycle, a loose smile on his face, when she steps into the road.

The light flickers to a glaring red and he shouts.

“Rio!” he calls, yelling for her to come back, and she turns and fuck, fuck, there’s the sound of a blaring horn and brakes screech and he squeezes shut his eyes.

When he opens them, there’s a limp body laying in the street like a broken doll and no truck in sight. Someone’s screaming, he realizes, and it’s a few minutes before he realizes it’s him, screaming her name between breathless sobs as he runs into the street, dropping to her knees beside her body. His fingers brush against her cheek because there’s no way that’s her, she can’t be, and he screams for an ambulance as the world around him goes black.

He wakes up.

He sits up in his bed to the tune of an annoying alarm (the clock reads 7:30 am) and it’s a Saturday morning. He blinks, once, twice, and rubs his eyes, feeling tears on his cheeks. A dream? Whatever. He tries to shrug off the feeling of emptiness and looks forward to going shopping with Rio later (and he remembers having seen those pants he bought in his dream; he’s definitely going to try those on). So he slides out of bed and works his way through his day and, it’s funny, but it’s playing out just like his dream. Rio recommends the jeans to him in the exact same tone and they’re walking back to his bike at the exact same time.

He doesn’t know what part of him it is, but he grabs her arm before she can step out into the street.

“What is it?” she asks as the light turns and he sighs (crisis averted; was there even a crisis) and he shakes his head dismissively. 

They end up taking the long way through the parking lot, and everything seems like it’s going to be fine when there’s a loud sound and Rio crumples to the ground. He hears her gasping and drops to her side in time to see blood trickling from her and hole through her chest (a bullet, did it go all the way through, is she going to die). He looks up but there’s no visible shooter, and he fumbles for his phone even as he hears her breaths becoming more and more ragged.

By the time the ambulance arrives, she’s dead and he’s crying.

He wakes up again and it’s Saturday again and he figures out something’s wrong, he’s stuck in some sort of twisted loop, and he tries time and time again as he watches her die in so many ways (he’s seen her head roll to the floor, he’s seen her burn, he’s seen her get crushed and oh lord the images are burned into the back of his eyelids).

They’re at the crosswalk for the billionth time, with him struggling to keep an amiable smile on her face as he wonders how she’ll be brutally killed this time.

And then he stops.

She doesn’t have to die.

As she steps into the crosswalk, he dumps the bags on the pavement and grabs her arm and pulls her back, shoving her onto the sidewalk as the truck slams into him. He falls to the hard pavement with a smile on his face and blood all over his jacket.

And the next day is Sunday, a Sunday without Ryoga but a Sunday nonetheless.


End file.
